


Trials

by Menirva



Series: Tribute Verse [3]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: A bit dark and twisted, Daddykink, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gore, M/M, Multi, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barsad's time away from his family draws to a close, and the time for presenting his Robin to them draws near.  He must make sure his boy is completely ready for them, that he is accepted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He receives their word several weeks after Robin's first true test, the night he proved to Barsad that Gotham no longer held onto any part of him, when he proved himself in blood, carried home sticky and coated with it, staining the sheets red while Barsad pushed him down into the mattress in reward and reminder of where he belonged.

It is a letter, encoded of course, but it is in his sister's hand. He reads it as they eat breakfast together, and his thumb brushes tenderly over the neat script. He has seen her, though never in person, only fleeting glimpses and always from afar, from the rooftops when he must scout over the upper crust of Gotham, and it has only made the longing in his heart grow. Robin's eyes flicker with curiosity. He is too clever not to know that something is happening. There has never been a letter delivered here before, not one. His grip is tight on his spoon and his face low to the bowl as he watches him.

"It is nothing to be concerned for, my little bird." The words calm him. Barsad has no reason to lie. What is coming will be a joyful time for them all, and the timing, the date listed in the letter, could not be better.

He has told them nothing. He wants this treasure to be a surprise for them, a bit of flame for them to cherish during the harsh storm that will soon come to Gotham. Likewise, his baby bird knows nothing, only that Gotham must burn and that one day it will. He is sure he suspects there are others like him, like them, but he does not ask. He is a curious boy, but he knows what the wrong questions to ask are.

Training is increased threefold. He works his boy down to his bones each day, pushing harder and farther, correcting even the smallest tic of misplaced form harshly. It exhausts his boy, makes him angry and cranky even though he works so hard to tame his tongue for him.

When it slips, he punishes him with severity, out of love and a small measure of fear. His Robin may lash out at him, but it must never be done to them. Barsad knows that he is near perfect, but in his heart he worries that Robin must make the proper first impression or he will not be accepted. He cannot imagine such a tragedy. Robin needs him, and they have grown so close Barsad must be honest and admit that he cannot imagine his life without him.

He cannot fathom if he were ordered to put him down were he not wanted. He punishes now and always because he cares, perhaps too deeply at this point. He worries about such a thing, that his family will see this as something he has poured too much of his heart into, that it takes away from his dedication to them and he will be forced to prove himself to them with his baby bird’s blood.

He shakes off the darker thoughts. This is for them, and they will recognize it. All things that Barsad has done for them with subservience and an open heart have been cherished.

It dredges up memories inside of when he was first claimed by them. He had been an impoverished boy, fool enough to try to steal one of his sister's pieces of dazzling jewelry with quick, too-slender fingers so that he might eat that day. It was his defiance once caught by his brother's hand, a crushing vice around his own wrist, that had saved him, had let loose an anger in him at the unfairness of life. It had been his salvation.

Barsad could shiver at the crystal-clear image he has of his brother's eyes first looking into his own, piercing, taking every small bit his lean, hungry body had inside and pulling it out of him, taking it for his own. They had made his knees tremble. There were no words between them as he mouth opened and he licked over his cracked lips. There was only the gentle touch of his sister’s fingers to his shoulder.

"Bring him."

And it had been done. He had surrendered to them—not without trepidation, for oh, there had been fear in his heart knowing what he was giving himself over to—but the fierce longing in his soul would not allow it to hold him back. He had been taken only days later. They had been in the crowds together, gunfire everywhere. He had been ordered to stay by their sides, not ready to fight, not yet. He had watched with wide eyes at the lights and sounds, wishing he could join into the chaos, his hand on the knife Talia had tucked into his belt. He was too new then, though, he had never even fired a gun.

He had voiced his displeasure. His Robin was not the only one who had once had an untamed tongue. Bane had glanced down at him as he fidgeted uncertainty after the outburst, still so young and new and unaware of what the rules were. He had finally been told that if he wished to serve, then there were other ways, and he would be used for them now. Unknowing, he had nodded, eager.

Tears of confusion and pleasure had leaked from his eyes, wetting the rough brick wall in the alley he had been pressed to. No other warning had been given. He had been ordered to brace himself there and spread his legs apart for Bane as his pants were rucked down unceremoniously, earning a startled jerk of his body. He had been so willing, so desperate to serve that he wanted this, but it was new and he was so full of Bane, so overwhelmed that a sob had escaped his lean chest, drowned out over the sounds of fireworks and explosions, a revolution set forth in the small city he once called home, sparked by Bane and Talia's men.

His hole was slick, worked loose by Talia's fingers as Barsad had writhed in shock, nearly biting down on the hand Bane had clamped across his mouth to hold back his cries. He did no such thing after he was settled inside, lowering his hand, and Barsad's voice had joined the screams and cries of the revolution surrounding them as Bane pressed the thick head of his cock into him. He had felt a sense of shame that this was how he was giving up the last vestiges of his childhood, in a filthy alley, that he was tight for Bane, but his body was so willing, did not even offer up a token resistance to being breached, to Bane's cock working into him, settling deep inside where it belonged. Whatever spell they had woven around him in only days was being completed, then. He would never leave them.

Bane had begun to thrust and pleasure wracked through his frame, his hands slammed and scraped roughly against the brick wall as he was overwhelmed by it, by the endless feeling of Bane's cock leaving and returning, making Barsad stretch around him easily, teaching his body to become accustomed to his presence. His cock had been painfully full within only minutes of the rough pleasure, the blessing and curse of youth. It had hung swollen between his legs as Bane's mask pressed to his neck, as his hands held his hips, fingers bruising deep.

“Why?” he had finally managed to choke out as another sob, feeling weak from it, from the dizziness in his head and all of the blood rushing down to his cock, “why h-here, like this?”

“We are making a perfect memory for you, little lamb. Look up at the sky.” Talia had whispered it as she brushed the dampness from the corners of his eyes with her thumb.

He had, and he had understood as he watched the bursts of lights and flames, as he began to cry out louder for Bane, wanting more, as Talia's hand curled around his cock. He was being baptized by revolution, by fire, by them. It was his rebirth, and when he came for them, trembling and moaning, needing Bane's strong arms to wrap around him and keep him close, he knew he would never forget a single detail of the memory. Not the red firework that caught in his eyes as Bane stroked over his throat, not the crackle in the air and the sharp blue fire that rained down as he felt himself wrapped up tight and crushed against Bane, the low growl in his ear and how he came in him until it leaked down his thighs and he was spent, needing to be carried to safety as much as his little bird had after his own initiation.

The memories warm him, but remind him how hard they need to be working, how perfect everything must be for their arrival. Robin does not understand; he only knows that he is so exhausted. Barsad must finally relent when he is lying on the rooftop in a heap, hardly able to move after hours and hours of being taught, but still trying for him, not voicing a word of complaint. He is only frustrated with himself now for not being able to do what Barsad asks of him. It will never do for him to be only a ball of battered bruises by the time they come back.

Besides, there are other lessons to be taught.

“Alright, my little bird. That is enough for today...” His voice trails off thoughtfully when he finally touches his shoulder, and relief floods Robin's eyes for a moment before he continues. “Unless you can get up for me and take a little more. If you manage it, I will let you explore however you like, tonight.”

The relief in Robin's eyes shifts into a beautiful shine. This is something Barsad has offered twice before now, as reward, and each time Robin has cherished it. It fills his limbs with energy, and he is able to wobble back to them with a quiet 'yes sir'. Barsad nods his head to show him he is proud.


	2. Chapter 2

After, he nearly carries him into the shower, turning the water on for him and telling him to scrub well before dinner—beans and sausage that has been cooking in the oven all day, a favorite of his boy's once his taste buds adjusted to wholesome food. He gobbles it even though he looks like he might fall asleep in his bowl, purple and yellow bruising peaking out past his shirt each time he shifts in his seat.

“If you fall asleep you will lose what you have earned.”

“I won't,” Robin shakes his head quickly and asks for some grapes after supper. The sweetness perks him up, and he is casting hopeful looks at Barsad who sits on the old yellowed armchair, carefully cleaning his rifle. It is always kept well, but now he feels the need to be certain it is in top shape. They will be here so soon.

“Yes Robin?” he finally asks, his tone amused as he watches the fidget in his boy as he leans against the wall, framed by the flowers on the wallpaper.

“We gonna go to bed soon?” He is trying not to sound greedy, demanding, but Barsad can see the outline of his cock in his pants, already pressing stiff against them. His little bird has grown insatiable; it is to be expected with his youth. Barsad has fucked him for hours now, even spent the day in bed with him once, on a particularly indulgent day, and his boy only ever wants more, to the point where his body will shake with orgasm still when his dick has nothing left to give.

Barsad is not nearly so young, but he remembers well the tricks Bane and Talia had used to keep him just as satiated when he was needy. He makes sure to finger Robin between every round, making him see spots with each scrape of his fingers against his prostate. He has laced his fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him down onto his cock, watching it disappear into the soft slide of pink lips again and again as his little bird’s lovely dark eyes grew lidded and hazy, until he suckled at him so sweetly. When he has returned the favor, Robin spills into his mouth so quickly that Barsad cannot help but laugh softly at the sweetness of it, the breathlessly and now shamelessly cried out 'daddy' whenever he makes his boy tip for him.

“Just a moment; come sit first,” Barsad tells him as he carefully sets aside his Barrett. He takes up a pair of scissors, instead, and while Robin sits down on the floor between his legs he threads his fingers through his hair, twisting and admiring each wave as he trims them. He is careful to leave a nice length, something that curls and frames his boy's face, but nothing so shaggy that they will think him unkempt. Robin is still. Haircuts are not all too uncommon, and always done by Barsad.

His boy has been carefully isolated from Gotham. He has spoken to almost no one. When they are out, Barsad is the one who speaks, who pays the cashier or attendant. The only interaction he has received has been when he is sent to informants to gather information, and then that is only a curt exchange, practice. The only touch beyond Barsad's own nurturing hands has been a threat to him, attacks from others. It is how Barsad has planned it. His baby bird needs only him in this city, and soon that little bubble will be expanded to include them.

He almost thinks to tell him about it. It is such exciting news, and Barsad is not sure how Robin will handle such a surprise, such a change to everything he knows. But it would be unfair to tell him and not have their family know, and so he says nothing. He only cards through his waves until he is free of loose clippings, tilting his head up and patting his cheek.

“All done. Now we may go to bed.”

That has Robin up quickly, already reaching behind himself to slip off his shirt as they make their way to the bedroom. Barsad hardly minds following suit. It is as far as they get by the time they reach the bed. Robin has to take a breath to calm his obvious excitement, and Barsad is proud he knows to do it.

“Lay down for me?” Robin asks it cautiously, knowing he is being given leeway but not wanting to sound demanding. Barsad kisses his nose before lying back on the bed, and it puts Robin at ease. He is happy to crawl on after him, their jeans rubbing together as he climbs on top of him.

“Thank you, daddy,” he whispers properly, and his hand goes to the side of his neck as he dips down to kiss him.

Robin's legs curl under his, his ankles tucked under the backs of his knees as he plants an eager, sucking kiss to his neck. His lips rub quickly up his throat, chasing over the stubble there happily as his daddy strokes his hand down his shoulders, across his sides, quick pets and squeezes with his palms that have him sighing under the attention. Robin's thumb caresses up his cheek and over his lip before he gives him a rare, small smile, kissing him again as that same hand smoothes down over his chest. Barsad makes a note to let his little bird have his fun more often. He can be so sweet and playful when he is at ease, and it warms his heart to know such a thing is only for him.

The slow, constant rock of his hips as Robin kisses him fervently is an agonizing tease, more so because he knows his Robin does not even mean to. He simply loves to kiss, and cannot keep his hips still, grinding their cocks together through the thick material and making blood rush to Barsad's quickly. Robin's chest presses flush against his own and he loves the feeling of the rise and fall of his quickening breaths. In return, Barsad's hands cup his ass, stroking and bunching into the rough fabric, squeezing tight and pulling his boy’s hips so that they press together further, which gets a pleased moan against his throat.

“S'good, daddy,” is whispered out there, not quite shy but like it is still a secret between them. It makes him smile and murmur in agreement. He tells him what a good boy he is for him, and he loves the little shiver it earns, how it makes his Robin fumble at his own pants just to get them off and his cock free. Barsad's are peeled down just as eagerly by Robin's hands, and he lifts his hips to help him.

Robin knows well enough where to find the lubricant, now. He leans over him and stretches out, fingers managing to hook onto the small bedside drawer and tug it open with a triumphant creak. Barsad cannot resist tickling over his ribs, delighting in the startled gasp it gets, Robin quickly jerking back down on him to defend himself.

“Jerk,” he mumbles out and gets his bottom lip tugged on in reprimand.

“Respect.” Barsad hardly has to say the words before Robin is dipping down to kiss him, apologizing. It's far from the worst outburst when he has been ruffled, but he is well aware that Barsad has been suddenly clamping down on such things and he wants to please.

“Show me.” He rubs Robin's hips and there is a quiet relief in his boy’s eyes, that he has not ruined the play. He nods and uncaps the bottle, rubbing slickness onto his fingers before raising up on his knees more so that he can reach behind himself. Barsad can calculate the exact moment that his slippery fingers touch against his opening by the flicker of pleasure in his boy's eyes, the shivery exhale.

“Good boy.”

Robin mumbles in agreement and his eyes lid. He teases himself slowly, trying to mimic exactly what Barsad does to open him. He always does when he gets himself ready, knowing that daddy always works to make it a pleasure, so he is safe in copying that.  A softer cry leaves him, and from the arch of his back Barsad knows he is pressing first one finger in then more, stretching himself carefully until he is biting his lip, trying to curl up on him, his young body still overwhelmed by the pleasure that can thrum though it with the right touch.

Barsad rubs down the knobs of his spine and kisses his cheek, tasting his clean skin and the slight salt of sweat from his efforts. “Go ahead.”

Robin knows what he is giving him permission to do, and he nods quickly, straightening and letting his fingers slip out of himself. There is more lube, and this he rubs slowly onto Barsad's cock. His thumb traces again and again along a thick vein on the underside of it until Barsad is arching into the touch, groaning out.

Finally, he is rising up, working to position himself. Barsad has let him be on top before. His boy never lasts long for it, loving the feeling but always overwhelmed, always asking in the end for daddy to take over because it's just too much.

This time is no exception. Barsad holds his hips tightly, groans out as Robin guides him inside, a softer moan bubbling past his boy's lips as he takes him deeper, greedily forcing his hips down until he is seated fully and Barsad is settled deep inside of his boy. He drags him closer for kisses, and they are returned earnestly as Robin gropes for his hands. His baby bird wants to lace their fingers together, and Barsad squeezes them in return, guiding them to his shoulders, instead, so he's not pinned to the bed entirely. It wouldn't do to let his little bird be _too_ in control.

Robin is just as happy for it. Barsad admires the beautiful flush that spreads over his body as he begins to lift himself up. The tight clench of his body is as breathtaking as always, and Barsad has to resist pushing up into it. Another time. Now, he lets the pleasure of Robin riding him rush through his body. He's fast, his pace relentless at first as Barsad pets his thighs, and his head drops back as soft pants leave him.

Robin can only keep up such a pace for so long, though. He tries to move faster, but his thighs are trembling with the strain, and he bites his lip in frustration. He is so tired from the training of the day that he cannot give himself what he needs, cannot keep up the rigorous pace.

“D-daddy,” he mumbles out the word hopefully, needily, his fingers digging into his shoulders.

“It's your night to explore, my baby bird,” he teases, letting his hand caress down his chest, earning a shiver of pleasure and a shake of Robin's head, so earnest that he takes pity. “Do you need daddy to finish it?”

He does, and he stutters out the words, bobbing his head, “Please!”

It is easy for him to roll them, to settle his boy under his body. Now he moves, he rocks his hips and savors how Robin's limbs tangle around him, how he holds on tight and yet still pushes up into his thrusts, wanting to give everything he has, always wanting to please and knowing that when he pleases, daddy makes sure he feels even better. Barsad kisses over his smooth lips, dips past them to tease at his tongue as he reaches between their bodies.

His boy is primed, and it only takes a few strokes of his hand before he is crying out, his breath rushing into Barsad's lungs as his orgasm shakes through him and leaves him clinging tighter. Barsad thrusts into him still, enjoying the small little aftershocks that make his boy tremble, how his face twists and he squirms as he's stimulated further through his orgasm. Barsad sucks a wet kiss to the corner of his jaw then his head drops down to tuck into the crook of his shoulder as he groans, losing himself in his boy while Robin rubs his shoulders and sighs with satisfaction.

After, Robin is so tired but so very content. He is already nodding off by the time they clean, and Barsad pulls him close to sleep. He savors this last night before everything will change, reflects on how much and how beautifully his Robin has grown as he wraps around him tightly, his nails in his back as always, and his soft breath fanning over his chest. He is tender, more so than he can ever be when they are both awake. He kisses his boy's forehead and whispers how much he loves him, how grateful he has been for him, before he sleeps.


	3. Chapter 3

Barsad lets him sleep in, just a little. He takes the time to stroke across his cheek before he steps into the shower. After he is cleaned, he wakes his boy with a kiss, chuckling at the lazy, content look he is given. Then he smacks his hip lightly and orders him up. It is time for work, and Robin immediately recognizes the change, the shift from daddy to 'sir', and he quickly dresses for the day in street clothes as per Barsad's instructions.

“You will go out on your own, today, Robin.”

That catches his attention more. He has not been sent out alone again, not since he came back from his last mission with the hearts of his enemies in his hands. Barsad has been giving him time to recover. He has taken him along plenty of times since, but the killing done when needed has been his own hand since, though he now knows that his Robin is reliable, that he is safe with him watching his back.

“You want me to get information?”

“No. I want you to send a message.”  He tucks his knife into his belt for him. “Bring me back another present.”

Robin swallows, understanding his meaning. This is different. Before, he was to kill if he was attacked. It was defensive. Now, Barsad has sent him off explicitly to kill. It is not purely for the sake of a test. It is merely good timing. One of their informants has grown too brash, too confident. He thinks of himself as a brother when he is merely a tool. Barsad will correct such thinking through Robin.

Barsad takes hold of his chin and leans close, makes his baby bird look him in the eyes. “If you cannot do this… Do not come back tonight, Robin.”

There is a flash of desperate hurt in his boy's gaze, but Barsad must be cruel; too much is at stake, today. Even he can admit that merely threatening his boy with such a thing hurts, but he knows it will be effective. The thought of suddenly being without Barsad, it is something he has never once threatened before. It shows Robin how serious he is, and the order will be obeyed.

“Make me proud, my little bird,” he finally tells him, kissing his forehead gently. It is all Barsad has to give at this point before he sends him out on his task.

When he has left, Barsad takes calming breaths. His mind is like a turbulent sea, joyful, anxious, wanting to see them and fearing that, after so long, he will no longer fit with them as he once did, that they will not accept the tribute he has crafted for them. He must calm himself. It takes careful meditation in their small living room before the crashing waves inside of him steady and calm.

When he feels his body finally loosen, he opens his eyes.

He does not expect for them to be in the room with him, looking down at him as he sits on the ground, his legs crossed carefully beneath himself. Of course his body did not react to their presence as a threat. It never has.

“So sloppy, brother. What if we were intent to burgle you?” Talia asks softly. Eight years. It has been eight years since hearing her beautiful voice and he closes his eyes again, feeling a dampness clumping his lashes.

“I am afraid everything of mine that has value was already given to you long ago, sister,” he finally whispers back, looking back up to her with a small smile on his lips. It is like staring into the sun when he is graced with her own in return, when her small hand cups his cheek.

“You have grown so much.”

“And yet he is still our little lamb,” Bane finally speaks, “is he not?”

“Always.” He rises to his feet quickly at that. He is filled with the urge to wrap himself around them, but his hands stay at his sides. Suddenly he feels like an awkward boy again, unsure of his own body around them.

It is a relief when he is suddenly pulled into their embrace. He lets himself sink into it. He wills his body not to shake, and yet when Talia squeezes his hand, he can feel the tremor in it. He mumbles an apology. He is behaving shamefully, but he is merely held tighter for a fleetingly wonderful moment before he is let go.

“There is much to discuss, fix tea for yourself and our sister.”

Barsad is grateful for something to focus on. His mind is still buzzing. The earlier calm brought by meditation has fled him now that they are actually here before him. His moment of earlier emotion is calmed now, though. He can simply savor their presence instead of feeling the need to be wrapped up in it. His hands are steady once more as he puts on the kettle, steeping their tea. He sits beside them and fixes his sister's cup before his own; a touch of honey, nothing else unless it is a particularly indulgent day, then she adds a splash of cream herself.

Barsad is unable to keep the smile from his lips when he sees her do just that, pouring out a little cream before setting the small cup down. He watches it bloom out and cloud her cup before she sips.

“I have a gift for you.” He says it quickly, his index finger slowly circling the rim of his own cup before he takes a sip.

“A gift?” Bane sounds curious as he watches Talia drink from her cup. He turns his attention towards Barsad, and Barsad finds himself leaning closer when it is on him.

“Yes... crafted, for you. To please you.”

“Oh little lamb, how thoughtful.” Talia sounds pleased, and it fills him with relief. He finally drinks his own tea. It does not need to be said that he means no material object. They know his heart.

“He is out now, gathering something to show his value.” He hesitates a moment. “He is still new to it. I found him so young... I had not even been here a week's time.”

“He must be quite a masterpiece, for you have had so long to hone him. It is thoughtful indeed... and perhaps presumptuous, lamb,” Bane points out, and Barsad feels his heart still in his chest. “Now we find out you have spent so long with another. How are we to know he has not taken our place in your heart?”

Barsad shakes his head quickly, his tongue twisting in his mouth as he tries to assure them that could never be the case. Bane is already turning his head back towards him. His hand is so warm as it cups his cheek and holds him steady, forcing him to look into that steely gaze, inspected, scrutinized. He is being tested.

“Never. He could never replace you.” He promises it fervently, and he means every word. Robin is so much to him, but it is different. Robin he guides, them he follows. It is a world of difference.

“Perhaps he is meant to be a different tribute than you intended,” Bane says quietly, his hand still stroking through the coarse hair of his beard, “perhaps he is a sacrifice.”

Barsad cannot breathe even at the thought. He closes his eyes and says nothing, but he feels sick. Talia's hand is on his shoulder and he is tense, but will never shrug away from her.

“What would you do if we ordered it, Barsad?” She voices the question so softly that it is a whisper, like silk against his ear, and he shudders.

“I—” He feels like he is breaking inside because for once he does not know. He thought he knew the answer to anything they asked of him. He had always thought it to be only a yes, one carried out with an ardent gladness, but this…

He pulls from their touch, curling in on himself, knowing he has earned shame.

“I would beg you for mercy, to allow me to be your sacrifice, instead.” His voice is shaky as he speaks of such defiance, but he cannot. He cannot do it, they have forced him to see that, and the idea of such a disloyalty in his own heart makes him feel as if he is broken open.

“Oh little lamb,” Bane's voice is not angry, it is not tinged with the disappointment that Barsad expects to hear in it, “look at us.”

He tips his head up uncertainly. They do not look ashamed of him. There is a smile to Bane's eyes, and he does not understand the approval in Talia's. Her hand is back on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“We have never doubted your loyalty Barsad, and we never will,” she explains. “For you to find one that you would deny our order for...”

“It does not mean you are disloyal,” Bane continues, “it means you have found your Talia.” He says it more quietly, and he looks distant, as though he is lost in a memory. “You have found the one you were destined to protect... and we could not be more proud of you.”

When Bane's words sink in, when he realizes what they mean, he could burst with the warmth they fill him with. His Robin is being accepted without question because they know his own heart so well. They know he would never turn from them, and this is no exception. His heart has simply grown to hold his Robin in it, as well.

“Thank you. Thank you.” He chokes out the words as his head drops down.

"There is no need for that.” Talia lets her hand run down his back before she returns to her tea.


	4. Chapter 4

Bane, however, has other thoughts. The hand cupping his cheek caresses across his face until his thumb is to his lips, slipping between them and into his mouth. Barsad takes it in, immediately swiping his tongue across the pad of it. Tasting Bane's skin after so long makes him close his eyes in longing, the heat pooling to his belly almost instantly.

His thumb hooks against his jaw, forcing his mouth open with a slight ache to it. “It has been a long time since I have claimed you, lamb.”

It has. So long, and he squirms in his chair at the thought. Suddenly his jaw is not the only thing that aches. He sucks at Bane's thumb a moment, enticing him, biting down with a playfulness to the action that had Bane chuckling quietly, slipping his spit-slick thumb out to trace over and wet his lips.

“We shall correct such a thing, now.”

“Y-yes, please.” He is embarrassed by the stammer in his own voice, bred from the absolute want that is suddenly coursing through him. Eight years without their claim. He has tried not to think of such things when he knew nothing could be done, but now that they are here and speaking of it, he is desperate. If Bane does not claim him now, then surely he will burn up into ash.

Talia is amused by their antics. She sips her tea and settles back in her chair as Bane is yanking him up from his own, shoving him so that he is forced over the table. He has no doubt that his head will be tucked between her thighs at some point this evening, serving her, but she is more patient about such things, and, truth be told, Barsad knows how much she has always enjoyed watching them.

“I trust you have it?” Bane asks as his large, warm hands rake up his back possessively, blunt nails catching over his skin as he slides his shirt up and then soothes his hands down the bare skin of his sides. Barsad closes his eyes, already in bliss. He lays his head against the table and nods eagerly.

“My pocket.”

Bane's fingers slide into the pocket of his jeans and the small tube he tucked there is fished out, dropped beside him on the table with a small click of plastic and a murmur of approval. Bane's hands pet over his thighs slowly, admiring, and Barsad wants to be bare for him already, but knows he must be patient. Bane will explore in his own time, will give him what he needs only when he is ready.

“You truly have grown for us, lamb. I can feel the strength of your body now, even more than what it once was,” Bane tells him as he presses against the back of his thighs. It pushes him against the hard wood of the table and he winces, his cock trapped and pinched there until Bane reaches down to unzip his pants. He rolls them down slowly and guides him so that his thighs are parted, his cock hanging down under the table now as he pets bare skin. “We knew how much we were asking of you, to endure Gotham without us, to give so many years of yourself, but we knew only you could accomplish this for us, could pave the way.”

He closes his eyes and lets Bane's quiet praise soak in. He would do it all again. He would do it for decades longer if that was what they desired of him. He is so grateful to be reunited, though. His breath catches when Bane's dry thumb runs between his cheeks, snagging against the rim of his opening and making a twinge of pain lance through him.

Bane's hands leave and return. The bottle is picked up, and the next stroke of his thumb is soothing, slick. Barsad shudders at it, presses back at his fingers when they touch his hole and a low noise of want leaves him when he is not denied, when he feels himself opened up by Bane once more.

“ _Please_.” The word feels ripped out of his chest, and he is braced to the table by Bane's strong hand as his fingers snake into him more, even deeper until Barsad is gripping the end of the table as if he will drown without the hold. “Please!”

He is crushed suddenly against the table, struggling for air and near dizzy at the feeling of Bane's body bearing down on him. He can feel the bite of metal and the softness of lambskin from his coat, the rough material of his trousers rubbing against his ass. It is so distant and so familiar, the scent of him and the sudden cold chill of metal tubes against the back of his neck, the puff of air that tickles through the finer hair there.

His head drops down, thudding onto the tabletop and doing nothing to help his dizziness. Bane still has a hand inside of him, trapped between their bodies and stretching him open.

“I know you have not forgotten, lamb.”

Of course he has not. He could never forget. How else would he have learned to do the same for his Robin? It is so hard, though. It has always been hard, and 8 years without it makes his lips feel like they are frozen.

Bane will have none of it. It is rightfully his, and if Barsad will not give, he will take. The rough press of Bane’s fingers against his prostate makes him jolt even under his weight, makes a sharp pulse of pleasure quake through him, so much so that he can feel the sudden slipperiness of his precome leaking down onto the table.

Another rough press and his toes curl, scraping against the faded linoleum floor. He bites his tongue and tastes copper.

A whimper bursts past his lips finally when Bane's fingers are tugged from him, the sudden emptiness too much to bear. He gasps for air and it is whined out softly, not enough. He knows it is not enough even as he manages to work it from his lips. The sudden stinging slap across his ass only confirms it. The soft 'again' rumbled into his ear is an order to speak up that he must obey.

“P-please, please, daddy.” He shakes as he says it. He is back in the alley, Bane's hand around his throat as he forces those same words from him, as the fireworks and flames rain down on them all and cleanse the city.

“Good boy.” It is whispered in his ear, a praise when Barsad gives himself over completely. He can feel Talia's hand on his shoulder, squeezing in reassurance, and he feels wetness prick at the corners of his eyes when Bane's zipper clicks open, when his weight is lifted from him only so that his ass is turned up to a better angle. Bane's cock easily slides between his cheeks, always so hot to the touch, like he will burn Barsad from the inside out. “Breathe.”

He obediently sucks in shaky breath. Fingers never prepare him fully for Bane. There is always a bit of tension in his shoulders, a shake to them even as his body is so willing. Eight years has done nothing to change that, and the head of Bane's cock stretches his rim, makes him burn with bliss as he presses past, as he fucks into him and forces Barsad to open, to take, to stretch until he is settled inside, their thighs pressing and a low groan from Bane that makes heat curl in Barsad's belly.

 Bane wastes no time. They are both more than ready, and it is as wonderfully brutal and claiming as he remembers. There is not a single doubt as Bane hammers into him, as he crushes him down onto the table, that he is theirs. He could scream from it, but instead he is near silent, his mouth forced open into a mute cry as Bane finds his pleasure in him, as his body aches from the roughness and yet his cock twitches eagerly, pleasure licking across his nerves with each stroke of Bane inside of him. It is the roughness that he needs. He always has, and they both know his heart. He needs the claiming and the roughness that comes with it before he is given tenderness.

Barsad feels sprawled out on the table. The way Bane holds his hips, he is barely even touching the floor anymore, just the barest touch of his toes to it as Bane's grip bruises him, the endless slide of his cock into his body making said toes curl again, and he is truly only being suspended by the table and Bane's hands then. He needs to come. He feels too good, his cock is aching and straining even as it is pressed into the wood of the table.

He finally begs again. It is easier this time. He is home with them once more, and all of his walls are broken down. He begs for daddy's hand around his cock even though those hands are busy holding him tight.

“No, little one, just like this. I know you can.”

He chokes, a distant buzz in his mind reminding him when he has told his baby bird the same thing. It is obvious where he learned such a cruel demand from.

His heart is racing and his belly clenches with each press of Bane's cock inside. He clenches around him in turn, tries to squirm back in his hold, tries to take more and more. The noises that leave him are pleading, high breaths and worked up moans. He is just there, balanced on the edge and needing to be driven over.

Bane's voice cuts through all of the tension and the rough. It is the tender that he needs then, a whisper in his ear and a soothing breath across his spine. “Go on, you can do this lamb.”

He can, because it is what Bane wants. It pushes him over and cuts through him sharply, so painful and blissful that the room seems to darken in his vision. The blood pounds past his ears and he arches back onto Bane's cock, willing him to stay inside as his come paints the table, as he spasms and whimpers out his proper name.

“ _Daddy_.”

The table is filthy, his sweat and come streaked across it as he is lowered down. Bane is still moving inside of him, but he is slow now, gentle, each push in is like a caress inside, and even though he is so sensitive, so much that it is painful, so much it makes him want to whine, he doesn't want it to stop. Not until he feels it. His legs are lowered and he wobbles, forcing himself to remain on his feet as he gropes for Bane's hand, grasping it tightly.

“Please, please let me feel you.” He breathes it out, almost smiles as he feels Talia's fingers gently sliding his hair, damp with sweat, from his face.

“You are just as perfect as when we left you.”

He does smile then, from her words, from the breathtaking moan of Bane behind him, the feeling of Bane twitching in him, finishing in him. He almost falls asleep on the table, knowing he is back in their care again, that Robin will soon be with them, too. He manages to whisper a quiet thank you as he is given a moment to recover.


	5. Chapter 5

He feels lazy and dizzy as Bane's fingertips stroke over the curve of his ass. He almost wishes he were in bed, that he could simply lay there and rest and feel the wonderful soreness in his body, relish it and what it means. It is not the time though. Eventually he forces himself up with a slow breath, rights his clothes even though he can feel Bane's come inside of him. It is smearing the inside of his jeans and when it dries it will be an even bigger mess, but he cannot bring himself to clean it just yet, wanting his scent on him.

The table he does clean, his lips twisting with amusement when Talia teases him about what a frightful mess he has made of it.

“I am sorry, sister.” He thinks to offer himself to her but she only shakes her head.

“Not yet. I will take you soon enough.”

He nods and settles back down, gingerly this time, feeling the ache when his ass presses against the chair. They speak again and Barsad relaxes, drinks his cooled tea. As they begin to discuss future plans, he can hear the front door opening. Even from the kitchen, he can hear shaky breaths, the rustle of a plastic bag opening. His Robin has completed his task just as he knew he would.

“In the kitchen, my little bird.” He calls it out softly, and he can see the interest in their eyes, how they focus on the doorway to see Robin walk into the small kitchen. His eyes are staring down at his own work, the carved out heart in his hands, the sticky blood on his fingers. He looks shaken with himself. There are bruises on him that he did not earn in training. This message put up a fight, and if the haunted look in his baby bird's eyes is any indication, he eventually begged for his life.

His Robin was too scared of being cast out to grant it.

Talia makes a softer sound, and with it, Barsad knows she is already enamored.

“What do you have for us, little one?” She asks gently, and Robin's head snaps up. He nearly drops the bloodied prize in his hands. He stares, brown eyes wide and his body tense. Never has anyone been allowed into their home. He looks between Bane and Talia, trying to understand, a nervousness filling him that they are here, that he is being addressed by one of them, something else that does not happen. After his trying test of the morning he is not weak, but more fragile, too much so to lash out with his hidden anger. It is fortunate.

“Come here, let me see,” Talia continues, her voice encouraging. Robin's eyes flick over to him, looking at him desperately. Barsad only nods towards Talia, a silent order to obey. He steps towards her slowly, cautiously, looking as though he wants to hide his deed behind his hands as his shoes squeak against the flooring.

“Oh how lovely,” Talia praises quietly when he is finally beside her. Her hand touches to his wrist and Robin jerks, shocked at the gentle stroke down it. He does not receive such touches from anyone but Barsad. Her fingers slide along the drying blood on his palms before she plucks up the heart from them, earning an even further lost look from Robin as she examines it. “Such a wonderful gift, is it not?”

She holds it up for Bane's inspection who takes his time looking at the heart before he nods his head in approval. “Yes,” he agrees, and Robin's eyes flicker uncertainly at his voice, how different it sounds. “It is a fine prize.”

Talia's lips curl into a smile, something more predatory than sweet. Barsad stands, walking stiffly as he goes to his boy and threads his fingers through his hair, kissing his temple. “Go scrub,” he orders, rubbing his scalp then adding more quietly, “Nice and clean. Inside and out.”

His poor boy is still so confused, but an order is easy to follow, especially with how much the day has taken from him. He needs a nice, simple order to put him back into place. He practically flees the kitchen and rushes to their bedroom so that he can clean himself of sweat and blood.

“So sweet, but so nervous,” Bane remarks as he watches him rush off, “not his usual, I assume.”

“He can be sweetly earnest,” Barsad answers honestly as he takes the heart from Talia's hands, cleans it to preserve, a memory, “but he is rarely so shy anymore, and he is often a hellion.”

“How can he not be with such a fire hidden in those eyes?” Talia is thoughtful as she says it, and Barsad smiles. He knew she would see it, that they both would, those sparks hidden beneath Robin's brown eyes, an inferno waiting to be released. “Let us have some time alone with him.”

“Of course.”

They move themselves to the living room. Bane takes a chair from the kitchen and Talia perches herself on the arm of the old stuffed armchair. Barsad stays in the kitchen, preparing some food for Robin, knowing that he will be hungry from being out all day. He watches, though, through the corner of his eyes, out the open doorway. He does not wish to miss any of it.

Robin walks from the bedroom, his hair dripping still as he rubs a towel through it, another wrapped securely around his waist. He stops in the living room and blinks almost owlishly, as though he thought perhaps this strangeness would be gone once he had washed away the blood of his crime. His mouth almost opens, but he presses his lips together. Barsad has always taught him to never talk to others without his permission. It is engrained in him now and he is curious, nervous, but he will not break such a rule without good reason.

“All clean for us,” Talia says, approving. “Come sit.”

His eyes flick towards the kitchen and Robin knows Barsad is watching. If he was not supposed to obey them, then Barsad would have told him otherwise. He walks over and sits down on the chair. Water drips down his toes and puddles on the wood flooring. He is stiff, even more vulnerable as he is nearly bare. Talia takes the towel from his hands and rubs it through his locks, catching drips at his neck.

“Such lovely hair.” She lets the towel drop into a pile on the ground and instead runs her nails through Robin's waves. His hands shoot out to grip tightly at the cushion of the chair, knuckles turning white and nails biting deep into the thick cloth.

“Shh,” she tuts lightly, and her fingers comb through his hair. “Relax for me little one.” She hums as she works, guiding each lock of hair exactly how she pleases, curling soft, damp strands of hair around her fingers to coax the waves out of them. Soon, Robin is enthralled by the repetitive soothing motions, and his fingers slowly loosen, his palms touching flat against the seat of the chair, and his eyes close. Talia can be gentle when it is needed, to lure, or even in quieter moments between them all. Barsad is secretly pleased that Robin seems to bring this side out from her.

Her hands go from his hair to his cheeks, slender fingers stroking over the smoothness of them. “Will you tell us your name?”

His eyes flutter open when she speaks, and he peers at her uncertainly from beneath dark lashes, then his eyes are back to the kitchen. Barsad stands in the doorway, a knife and dishtowel in his hand as he slowly peels a potato. He nods. Permission given to speak.

“Robin.” He mutters it out, his hands clasp together, and he is uncertain what he is to do again.

“A little bird,” Bane muses, and Robin's attention snaps to him. His eyes are on the mask. He desperately wishes to know. One day he will.

“Who are you?” He finally cannot keep the question inside any longer.

“We are your family, Robin.” Talia leans in closer and confusion clouds Robin's face. He shakes his head. Barsad is relieved that they are not offended. Talia only presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “We are. We are Barsad's family, and now we are yours. He crafted you for us.” He opens his mouth to speak again and her fingers press to his lips, a soft shushing noise leaving her own. “You will understand soon enough. Let us enjoy our gift, for now.”

“Gift?” Robin asks around her fingers, seeming bewildered by the thought. Talia laughs quietly and moves her hand.

“A precious gift. Now, no more questions for the night.”

They ask him questions, instead. About his training, his schooling. Barsad is proud that he has made sure his little bird is a devout reader when Bane begins to ask him questions about literature. He knew that he would appreciate another mind to discuss such topics with and Robin speaks about them easily, quietly at first, but slowly relaxing, being gentled to their presence, and soon he is more animated in topics. During it, they touch him, Talia's hands are often in his hair, and Bane's hand eventually makes its way to the back of his neck. It makes Robin break mid-sentence. He looks at him until a gentle squeeze is given there, an encouragement to continue.

Barsad eventually brings him out his dinner. He is not hungry, himself, the excitement of the day having taken his appetite, and he knows Talia will prefer to wait for Bane. His baby bird is hungry, though, and he balances the bowl of meat and fried potatoes on his knee, taking large bites between their questions for him. When Barsad takes the empty bowl to clean it he cannot help but drop down to cup his cheeks and kiss his boy's forehead. He is being so good for them.

His action in front of these new strangers makes Robin duck his head uncertainly, but with a caress through his hair, he is soon closing his eyes and leaning into Barsad's touch. It sparks a new interest in them both, and Barsad can easily recognize the predatory look in their eyes. He had felt such a gaze roam over his skin often. His boy is fed, and the day is growing later. There is no reason not to give them what they wish to see.


	6. Chapter 6

“Time for bed, my little bird.” He draws him up from the chair, leaves the dirty plate behind as he pulls Robin in for a kiss. It gets a sigh, and he leads him back to the bedroom with them, his arms wrapped around Robin's slender torso as he follows after, forgetting their family in favor of chasing after Barsad's lips with his own. He is so dedicated to the task that it isn't until Barsad gently lays him out on the bed that he realizes they are not alone there.

He backs up on the bed, bunching the blankets under him. “You can't.”

“Shh, Robin.” He quiets his protest with a kiss. “Let me show them what a perfect boy you are, how good you are for me.” He continues to kiss him as Bane and Talia sit on the edges of the bed, enclosing them. To Barsad, it could not be any more perfect, to be flanked by them as he shows them how Robin is all his, what will eventually be all of theirs.

The kisses are a sweet distraction, and Barsad pours all of the love and possession he feels in his heart into them. Robin must feel it, how much he is being claimed, for he stops his protests and instead settles back onto the bed. Barsad can feel the flush of heat on his cheek and smiles into a kiss. This is the last bit of embarrassment he is sure he will see from his Robin. Soon, he will be quite used to being taken in front of others. He is meant for their pleasure, after all, a fighter, of course, a ball of rage and pain sculpted to aid them in tearing Gotham to pieces... but first and foremost Barsad has always kept pleasing them in mind.

“It's alright, baby bird, I have you.” He leaves a trail of gentle kisses across his throat. He wants them to see the differences between them. Robin may need the roughness in training, but when training is over, he longs for nothing but tenderness, and Barsad sometimes cannot get over how sweet it is. He at times wishes he could be like this for them, and it is why he has encouraged it so strongly.

Soon, a needy sound escapes his boy. Kisses are such an excitement to him, especially when Barsad kisses across his ears, nibbling at each lobe, delicately. When he places a sucking kiss to the hollow behind his ear, Robin gasps and bites into his lip. Barsad knows he has out of embarrassment just held back what he should not.

Barsad does not tell him to pretend they are not here. Such a thing would never do. They are here, now, and they will always be here. Barsad would not encourage Robin to forget such a wonderful thing, and neither will they. Even now, Bane's hand touches down onto Robin's boney shoulder. His fingers squeeze, not roughly, but enough to remind him of his presence as he is kissed. It makes him squirm.

“You have a beautiful mouth, little one; do not spoil the view with your teeth.”

Barsad laughs throatily, sucking at Robin's collarbone. Bane has always preferred to hear all of the noises being made for him. It seems that now is no different. He squeezes Robin's hips when he makes an uncertain sound, a quiet order to obey.

Talia lets her hand run down his arm, from shoulder to fingertips. “Show us, lamb.”

He nods, and it is with an almost reverence that he takes hold of the soft terrycloth wrapped around Robin's waist and unwraps it, showing their gift fully, all of his training-bruised skin, the sweet swelling to his cock, the softness of his thighs even as they grow stronger. Robin opens his mouth and Barsad shakes his head firmly. Now is not the time to speak. He kisses him again to quell any further questions. He rubs his palms over Robin's chest, getting sighs, a low moan when he rolls his thumb over a nipple and plucks it into hardening for him.

His eyes stay focused on Robin’s. Theirs do, as well, and their boy does not know where to look. At times his gaze flicks between Talia and Bane before he looks away quickly. Most times, though, it is settled on him as Barsad kisses down his belly, watches the tremble of his lip as he pokes his tongue playfully into his navel and then bites down gently around it. He loves the tastes of his clean skin, how different kisses draw different sounds, each a pleasure to hear, each a sign of how much his little bird is enjoying himself.

When he works down to nuzzle into his sides lovingly, placing a kiss to his hip, Robin's hands finally reach for him hopefully. They are taken gently, one by each of them, and held. He jerks uncertainly, eyes back on them and body tight even as they squeeze his hands, rubbing soothingly over the tops of them.

“You would block our view. We cannot have that,” Talia tells him, leaning closer to kiss his temple. “We wish to see how Barsad possesses you. How much he has claimed you.”

He squirms more, still unused to their touch or to being restrained beyond Barsad ordering him not to move. Robin's body understands the gentle hold, though, the thoughtful rubbing over his knuckles and wrists. It relaxes, eventually, as Barsad nibbles the skin along his hip, kissing down to his thighs and parting them. He places a sucking kiss to the soft inner skin, biting into it sharply and deeply enough for Robin to jerk again in their hold.

“D-Daddy!”

Talia makes a noise of surprise then laughs softly in approval, the look in Bane's eyes matching it. His baby bird could not be more mortified. The flush of arousal on his body is now nearly pure embarrassment, and he tries to think of something to say, pulling at his hands.

Talia hushes him and squeezes his fingers, dropping another kiss to his reddened skin. “How perfect you are for him, for us. There is no need to be shy. Enjoy your daddy's touch.”

Robin eyes squinch shut at that, only the click of Barsad's tongue in disapproval making them snap open. “Good boy.” He spreads his thighs and kisses the back of one in approval, lips making a trail over the pert curve of his ass leaving little red nips of his teeth, wetted and soothed by his tongue. He blows over the damp skin and gets a breathy moan.

There is something he has saved for them. A claiming that he knows his boy will love, but Barsad had wished to let them witness it. He can give it now, and he digs his fingers into the curves of his boy's ass, spreading his cheeks and loving how eager the motion makes him, how much he has learned to love attention there. He has scrubbed inside and out, just like daddy instructed. When Barsad kisses along the cleft of his ass, he can taste soap and clean skin.

The gentle press of Barsad's lips to his rim draws a sharp, surprised breath from Robin. He makes a confused noise and Barsad shushes him gently.

“You'll like this, baby bird.” Barsad murmurs, a promise he intends to keep. His breath tickles over the sensitive furled skin there and the beautifully shocked noise that leaves Robin when he slides his tongue out and laves it over his opening is something to savor.

Sweet, low cries of pleasure fill the air, followed by tiny gasps for breath. He is making his little Robin shatter into pieces with his tongue, his lips. He licks over his hole again and again, presses wet kisses there. He pins his hand against Robin's stomach to hold him still as he is torn between squirming away shyly and bucking eagerly onto Barsad's tongue.

“Daddy!” He sobs the word out, and Barsad can feel how his tummy jumps and clenches under his fingertips.

Talia makes an approving sound. They have let go of his hands so that he can clutch his fingers desperately into Barsad's hair, pulling at the roots sharply. He curls in on himself at the overwhelming sensations. Barsad only groans, enjoying the sensation as he kisses his wet opening, rubs his spit-slicked lips against his hole again and again until it is filthy wet, until Robin can barely make a sound beyond his heavy panting.

“Say it again, sweet boy.” Talia strokes his hair, gently carding the damp locks from his eyes as she has done so often for Barsad. “You cry out for him so sweetly.”

His poor baby bird is too undone to resist her command. He sings for them. When he slides his tongue into him it is a sweetly gasped out 'daddy' that falls from his parted lips, when he curls his tongue and rubs it inside of him it is chanted out blissfully between gasps for air.

Talia and Bane touch him more, then. They take turns telling him how wonderful he looks, how good he is being. Every praise is possessive, every word a little bit more claiming, and their baby bird is so open and receptive that he cannot help but soak it in. His dark eyes lock on them now, not uncertainly, but taking in the praise, the kiss of Talia to his lips, how Bane's hand caresses down his chest, fingers touching over the outlines of his lean muscle. Barsad has opened him up and made him theirs.

When Talia asks if he likes daddy's tongue inside, he gives a jerky nod of his head, and Barsad chuckles. He gives his boy one last wet kiss there, a slide of his tongue over his soaked hole before he sits up from his crouch, carefully pries his fingers from his hair and kisses the trembling fingertips.

“Do you understand, baby bird?” he whispers, his breath brushing against Robin's hands as he cups them. “You are mine no longer. You are _ours._ ”

“W-why?” He struggles to ask, and Barsad smiles, rubbing his beard against his hands.

“Because I knew the very moment I saw you that this was your place. Have I not always known what was best for you?”

He has. Barsad has always given Robin everything he needs. He has held secure and loved him, nurtured him since he was only a boy. He has sculpted him, crafted him, and now he knows why, what purpose he has, a perfect gift, a perfect tribute. He nods and Bane takes Robin's cheeks in his hands. He leans down and lets his mask touch gently to his forehead. The coolness against his heated skin makes Robin shiver.

“Go on, baby bird,” he encourages softly. And after a moment, Robin is wrapping his arms tightly around Bane's body, holding onto him, giving himself over to him as his nails dig into his back, as his hands cannot touch one another due to the wide span of Bane's shoulders.

“Good boy.” Bane has always given simple praise when it is due. He draws him up onto his knees and strokes down his sides, his belly, touching his thighs even before his hand wraps around Robin's swollen cock. He wets his fingers in the trail of precome there, rubbing against the flushed red tip until Robin is twitching and whining, trying to rock into his hand.

Talia chuckles softly, clearly finding his eagerness charming and she strokes down his back and Barsad goes to clean his mouth. He does not worry about leaving Robin alone with them while he is in the bathroom. Even the brief separation is an important step.


	7. Chapter 7

When he comes back, the breath leaves his lungs in a stunned rush. They have guided his baby bird's head between his sister's thighs. Barsad could not be more proud as he sits beside them on the bed and sees the heavy, lidded look on Robin's face, the way he laps at her fervently, all mess and no skill, but dedicated, wetness smearing his lips and chin as Talia moans and strokes his hair, as Bane rubs down his spine.

“He is wonderful.” Talia pulls him down for a kiss and he is happy to obey, twining their tongues for only a moment before she guides him to kiss down her throat, over her breasts. He is not surprised she has chosen this as how she claims their little bird. He suspects she has been without lips on her for some time, and Barsad is happy they are with her again to please. 

Barsad leans down close and whispers instructions into Robin's ear, guidance, what will please her most. He asks him if he likes it, how she feels and tastes, and smiles at the quick nod he receives. Talia rides his tongue, her hands gripping tightly onto the dark locks of Robin's hair as he serves her. She comes with a satisfied moan, with Robin sucking gently on her clit. Barsad laughs at the mess of his face and licks his lips clean.

Bane is next, of course. It would not do for one of them to not claim him when the other has. Bane pulls him close and strokes through his hair again; by now, Robin cannot keep still. He is still too young, and his body has needs. His cock is pressed up flush to his belly as he looks at Bane with dazed eyes.

“How did you take him first?” Bane asks, sounding curious as he strokes a thumb slowly across Robin's brow, earning a shiver.

“His hands and knees. It seemed appropriate at the time.” Barsad answers honestly, but adds after a moment, “If I may... I think it would be best for him to face you.”

Bane's eyes shift towards him, and Barsad cannot help but reach out to touch his arm. He can count the number of times Bane has taken him face to face on his fingers. It is never said, but Barsad has always suspected it is the mask. Those times, though, have been the most tender Barsad has ever felt from him, and he wants that for his little bird, for his final initiation with them.

Barsad hesitates and leans close. His teeth scrape over his bottom lip slowly before he presses them against Bane's mask, to his ear. “Please, daddy.” It is quiet, barely there, but he can still hear the quick intake of Robin's breath. He is sure his clever bird understands perhaps everything, now. Barsad barely resists ducking his head. He has no reason to be embarrassed. He reminds himself of that firmly. Robin should know of it. He should know how much he is theirs, as well. Besides, Barsad is sure Robin will be calling him it soon enough.

“Reunited for one day and already you are spoiled,” Bane says, his tone amused as he presses his thumb to Barsad's lips. Barsad kisses it in turn, mouth curved into a small smile, knowing his wish has been granted.

“Hold him.”

“With pleasure,” Barsad breathes out happily, placing another loving kiss to Bane's thumb. He lounges back on the bed, balanced against the headboard and their pillows, holding his arms out. He beckons for Robin to come to him which he happily does. There is a nervous, eager energy thrumming through him now, and Barsad can feel it when he strokes over his skin. He knows what is coming. His lips still shine from serving Talia, and now Bane will claim him. Any sort of uncertainty in the idea is brushed away easily by daddy's smooth fingers stroking over his forehead when he lays his back against his chest. Barsad loves how easy he is to hold onto like this, rubbing his stomach and chest as Robin settles into his hold more, his thighs parted for Bane.

“Let me ready him for you?” Barsad asks, and it is granted. Robin is looser from his tongue, but he still needs lubrication worked into him. Barsad makes it a show for them, pressing each finger in slowly and kissing across his boy's neck. He sucks deep red marks into his skin, tasting the sweat there now.

“Look at you drip, my mess of a boy,” Barsad teases against the crook of his shoulder, feeling the tremor run through his body. He is a mess, truly, a line a precome leaking down onto his belly and smearing stickily; when Barsad crooks his fingers and strokes over his prostrate, a fresh supply bubbles up. Talia's finger runs across his belly and Robin's cheeks pinken slightly when she slides the finger between her soft lips, tasting him thoughtfully.

“Delicious.” She says it teasingly, and Barsad laughs, kissing the top of Robin's head when it ducks.

“All ready,” Barsad announces as he slides his fingers from him. Bane is already settled between Robin's thighs, his cock in his hand and stiff, ready. He wastes no time. It is still careful pushes, though, as he lines himself up with Robin's body, pushing against his rim, and Barsad knows it is because he is looking into dark, sweet, brown eyes, mesmerized by them and how Robin's throat bobs when he swallows, his pink tongue peeking out to lick over his lips.

Bane's hand pets down his thigh when he presses in further, rocking slowly at a surprisingly thoughtful pace, but then Bane has always given those he is with what they need. Barsad has simply needed the rough, and his baby bird thrives on a more achingly gentle touch when he is away from the cruelness of the world. One last, firm push of his hips has Bane settled into him, his eyes lidding at the pleasure of it. Robin's jaw has gone slack, his eyelids fluttering at the fullness.

Bane is still slow. He rolls his hips, and when it is met with a pleasured moan he begins a more steady pace, each slide in working Robin into a more fevered state of need. Bane's hands caress over him, often brushing over Barsad's who does the same, and even Talia strokes his knee, his thighs. He is so open, receiving so much attention from them all and practically basking in each touch, in each push of Bane into him. It's not long until Bane's pace quickens, until low moans and quick pants fill the air.

“It's good, isn't it?” Barsad asks knowingly, patting his cheek. A low cry leaves Robin at a particular twist of Bane's hips and Barsad strokes his cheek, fingers sliding through a sheen of sweat.

It goes on, faster and faster, until Robin wants. He wants so badly that it aches and his hips twitch, pushing back eagerly at Bane, now. Barsad kisses his forehead, thinks it best to remind him of the way of things now before he inadvertently makes a mistake.

“You know the rules, baby bird,” Barsad encourages him with a hand to his chest, rubbing it soothingly even as a near hiccup for breath escapes his boy. He is so worked up that he is near insensible, so much newness, so much pleasure that is overwhelming him. He knows the rules, though, and he nods, biting his lip and speaking to him.

“Please, please let me come, daddy,” he begs breathlessly, and Barsad is so proud of the lack of stammer, how it is said openly and wantonly.

It almost seems a shame to deny him.

“That was so good, Robin,” Barsad assures him gently, hand rubbing his belly and feeling how it dips with each desperate pant, “but it is not me you need to ask.”

That throws his poor addled boy for a loop. When he asks proper, he usually doesn't have to think anymore, he only needs to accept and enjoy the bliss of daddy letting him come. Now his brows furrow and he makes a heartbreaking noise of disappointment.

“But I don't,” he stops and swallows, trying to gain moisture back to his dried throat so he can speak properly, “I don't know it.”

“You do,” Barsad tells him simply, and even addled, their boy is smart. His eyes shut in confusion and he tries to clear his mind. A moment later and those beautiful brown eyes pop open again, clarity in them even through the haze of need. He bites his lip but he does not argue or fuss. He knows such things will get him nowhere. He waits, instead, until he is too worked up, until he is shaking and can no longer keep the words from his lips as Bane thrusts into him, uses their Robin for his own pleasure and waits until Robin is ready to ask for his own in turn.

Finally, it is too much, too much fullness, too much want, too much pleasure and denial twisting throughout his body. Robin lets out a broken whimper and wraps his legs up around Bane's waist. His toes flex and curl, digging into Bane's back as his hands latch onto his shoulders. Barsad only cups his chin and tilts his head, making sure he is looking into Bane's eyes, trapped up in them as he asks sweetly, hesitantly, worried that he will not be given it but yearning at the same time.

“Please, please, d-daddy.” He falters over giving Bane the prized title alongside Barsad. “Can I come?”

Bane's eyes lid, and he responds just as Barsad knew he would to such tender earnestness. His wide hand splays across Robin's hip, squeezing tightly before it curls around his cock, earning a broken off moan.

“Go on, then,” he coaxes, giving a few firm strokes, his thumb sweeping across the smeared and messy tip of his cock. When it is coupled with his steady strokes into his pliant body, Robin is undone, so pent up that he keens and arches. His come rushes out in thick splatters, painting his chest as he heaves for air. Bane thrusts faster and it makes his breath hitch, the continued pounding into his body making him shake, forcing his orgasm to drag out until he is whining, shaking his head at the continued onslaught. Barsad soothes him, kisses his forehead.

“Just a moment more, baby bird, be good for daddy.” He knows Bane well. He knows he is only moments away, his breath gives him away, how his hips stutter and lose pace. The sudden force of their hips smacking together forces Robin back against him and Bane nearly crushes them together, a rougher groan rumbling from him as he fills Robin with his come. 

Robin is near limp against him, and yet he still leans into the slow caress of Bane's fingers against his cheek. He closes his eyes at the soft 'good little bird' that is uttered. It is tempting not to clean, but Robin is such a mess that he coaxes him up onto wobbly legs, guiding him to the bathroom. He leans against the sink and takes slow, shaky breaths as Barsad wipes his mouth and chest with a damp cloth. He pats him down with it, after, to cool his overheated body, and finally cleans the come trickling down his legs from Bane filling him.

Robin leans into each touch, drinking some water from a cup left by the sink. His fingers tremble and he almost drops the cup. Clearing his throat, he speaks roughly.

“Barsad?”

  
“What is it?” He glances up at him as he rubs, seeing his eyes watching him from the mirror. 

“I...” His voice trails off and he almost looks down, but his Robin is bolder than that when they are alone, when he is not broken down sweetly. He turns and wraps his arms around him, instead.

“I'm still yours, too... right?”

Barsad smiles at the slight worry in his tone. He wraps around him and feels his cleaned, damp skin press against his own as he rubs his side.

“Nothing will ever change that you are my baby bird,” Barsad promises, and there is a relieved sigh. Robin holds him a moment longer, nodding against his shoulder. Barsad kisses him, his cheeks, a trail up his jaw, and finally over his soft lips.

“Time for bed, baby bird.” He gets a tired nod, and with his concern alleviated, Robin is ready to drop. Barsad guides him back to the bed with an arm looped around his waist for support.

With four of them lying down, it is crowded, warm, limbs all pressed together tightly. It is perfect. He finds himself crushed in the middle with Robin's arms tight around him, with Talia's chest against his back and her leg slid between his own, with Bane's hand gripping his shoulder as his long arm drapes over Robin. Robin in already asleep, blissfully so with so much attention, and Barsad kisses him again, feels lips against the back of his own neck.

“He is perfect.” Talia's voice carries through the dark, and Barsad closes his eyes and listens as she continues. “He will burn the world to cinders with us.”

“A purging fire, the spark for the flame discovered within Gotham's own city limits,” Bane agrees, and Barsad is filled with pride for Robin. He strokes his hair and feels his own touched in return. His family is together, and now it is time for Gotham to fall.


End file.
